The Poplar Scheme
by RunningElephants
Summary: El moved to London, looking for a way to distract herself from the pain in her life...Sherlock is trying to fill a void in his life, work cases and prepare himself for Moriaty's return. When El moves into 221C, they help each other in ways they wouldn't expect. Post Abominable Bride! Rated T for now, will change in future chapters - Summary stinks! Enjoy! Please Review! Thanks!


This is my very first Sherlock fanfic, and hopefully the first one I actually finish. Send me your thoughts, I really look forward to them!

So, without further adue, Chapter One.

Enjoy!

 **Ookaay. So, I wrote this story and I was rereading it, and I got really mad at myself because I was like, "Oh my God. This is awful. I can do better than this." I realized I hadn't told you all the day, the season, introduced her family or anything like that. There was also a few aspects of her personality that I wanted to add after I had written that would make an interesting parallel to Sherlock. I was just telling, not showing (BIG writing no-no). Soooooo, I rewrote Chapter One. But I decided to be _super nice_ and post Chapter Two as well. Please refrain from telling me how awesome I am…JK! ;)**

 **Read and Review! Please!**

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The excitement that she felt could hardly be contained as the cabby drove along the busy streets of London. She had never seen anything like this city before. Of course, she had never really been to a city, so she didn't have much to compare to. The energy from the buildings and people around her only fed the burning fire in her chest. They say London in the fall is like nothing else on earth…they're right. The streets were damp from recent rain and the trees were covered with yellow and orange leaves. The light glistened off their fiery colors in a kaleidoscope of images.

 _I'm actually here!_ Un-repressed joy practically rolled off her. She was so happy, that the cabby, Billy, could see it. They chatted, him asking her about her move. The traffic was awful for a Tuesday, he had told her, suggesting she purchase an oaster card if she wanted to get around the city quickly. She took note, and asked him about his children (the picture in a frame next to the radio) and he endlessly praised his daughter's piano playing skills and his son's league football team.

 _Look at me! Making friends, talking to strangers! Go me!_ She smiled and felt her heart thump happily beneath her ribs.

The cab pulled up in front of a little red awning that said Speedy's sandwich shop and he helped her unload Celeste and her suitcase. She thanked him and paid, leaving a generous tip, then turned to a little black door with inconspicuous gold letters reading 221B. She quickly rapped three times on the door and turned to observe the busy city around her to distract her from her nervousness. Black cabs buzzed by and a cyclist meandered on the other side of the road. She couldn't help the small grin that lit her face.

She had been planning on this for almost a year, ever since her transfer had been approved. Her firm had told her they would be sad to lose her, but happy that she was moving on…after everything. Her parents and siblings had been worried that she would fall back into…old, negative patterns, but she had surprised everyone. She went back to work, cleaned her house, and told her family she was moving. So, she packed up her entire life into a few boxes and Celeste (her black and white, bicolored cat) and bought a plane ticket.

She had lived in Maine for several years, back in the States, but it was time for a new adventure. She sold the little white cottage with pink roses and window boxes, gave her car to her brother, and let her sister pick out a new work wardrobe (which she really did need, sense her preferred style of dress was at best "eclectic" and "colorful").

London would be her chance to start over, and to forget all that had happened. She knew she was technically running away, but when she could mentally handle everything, she would go back.

The door clicked open and El spun around to the smiling face of a kind looking woman with short red hair, "Hello dear. Can I help you?"

El stuck out her hand, "Hello, Mrs. Hudson?" The old woman nodded. "I'm Elodie Ried; I'm here about the basement flat? We talked a few days ago?"

Mrs. Hudson's face lit up, "Of course! I remember you from the telephone! Lovely meeting you dear. Always nice to put a face with a voice. Come in," She opened the door wider and allowed El to walk through with Celeste's carrier and her suitcase.

"You're an American?" She asked helping El out of her coat.

"Yes, from Maine."

"Really? I lived in Florida myself for several years." She picked up a bucket of cleaning supplies that sat near the door and moved it out of the way.

"I grew up there! I'm from just north of Key West."

"How funny!" She shook her head, a small smile gracing her lips, " It really is a small world. Now, what brings you all the way from the States?"

El shrugged, "A job transfer. I felt the need for a change in my life, so when the opportunity came up, I jumped at it."

"Well, isn't that lovely. I do hope you enjoy living here. It's a busy city, but you'll find it can be quite interesting."

They were in a nicely decorated hall with striped green wallpaper and a dark wood staircase and hardwood floors. Mrs. Hudson moved through the hall, to a glass and white frame door down a few stairs with the number's 221 C, "It's a basement, so it was a bit damp, but I had it cleared up for you. New drywall, new carpet in the bedroom and new cabinets. The appliances are not new, I'm afraid, they were second hand, but in fair shape."

A sharp cry from Celeste brought the attention of both women to her, so El opened it and she leapt out, gave a shake and flashed her owner a look of annoyance. But it quickly changed to one of curiosity as she began to pad around the new space.

"Oh! She's beautiful!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed.

"Thank you," El smiled, "I found her outside a restaurant on the way home from work one night. Someone had just dumped a box and she was inside. She had the most pitiful cry…" A sentimental smile passed her mouth, "I just couldn't leave her."

"Is her coloring common in strays? I've never seen anything like it." Celeste padded up to Mrs. Hudson and rubbed on the woman's pant leg.

"No, she was actually all black when I found her, the spot just appeared over time. I think the vet said it was vitiligo. It's a gene mutation that causes loss of pigment over time."

The woman picked up Celeste and rubbed her ears for a few minutes before setting her back down, "Well, even at that, she's very lovely. And her name fits perfectly."

El smiled and stepped into her new home, taking it all in. It had a tall window in the middle of the far wall and a white fireplace on the wall next to it. The walls had been painted white, and the floors had been replaced with hardwood. A pretty white baseboard lined the room and when she looked into the kitchen, she saw the simple, yet happy looking kitchen. She could smell drywall and new paint, but she could air that out in a few days.

She peaked her head into the bedroom and bathroom and was more than satisfied with what she saw.

 _Mrs. Hudson must have done a lot of work to the flat_.

She noticed said woman was waiting nervously by the door and El realized she hadn't said anything since they had entered 221 C.

 _Stupid!_ She mentally smacked herself on the forehead. _Need to work on that El._

El turned to her and smiled, "It's perfect." Poor Mrs. Hudson let out a relieved breath and smiled with all her teeth.

"Wonderful! How about we sign the papers and I'll make you a cuppa."

They left Celeste to her exploration and went into Mrs. Hudson's flat, a cozy space with lovely cream, flower wallpaper. A small table with a few chairs sat underneath a window with lace curtains, and seventies green appliances. It reminded El of her great grandmother's house, from when she would visit as a child. El smiled…many, many happy memories she had with her Oma.

 _A good sign._ Her thoughts drifted to quiet summers spent playing in the gardens, the handmade dolls that sat on the guest bed and the plays they put on with puppets.

El's finger's gently traced the floral wall pattern, "You have a lovely apartment."

"Oh, it's not much, but it's better than some." She smiled, putting the kettle on the stove.

The woman pulled out a chair for El and sat a plate of biscuits in front of her on pretty blue patterned china. A few minutes later, the kettle boiled and she set about making tea. When she finished, she poured El and herself a cup and settled into the chair in front of her.

Mrs. Hudson pulled the papers from a drawer, plucked a pen from a jar on the counter and El quickly and happily signed them. Keys were produced and El placed them safely in her wallet, making a note to buy a new key chain.

"I meant to ask before, are there any other tenants in the building? I saw some stairs, I mean, I assumed they lead somewhere, unless they're there to confuse intruders or something."

Mrs. Hudson laughed, "I can't believe I forgot to tell you! Yes, one other ternate, Mr. Holmes in 221B. He used to have a roommate, Dr. Watson, but he's gone off and married now. Still, he comes around often enough. I'm sure the boys would have been around to greet you, but they're out on a case."

"A case? What are they lawyers or something?"

"Heavens no!" She laughed, "No, Mr. Holmes, he's a consult for the police. On cases they have a little trouble with." She took a sip of her tea.

El laughed, "I don't think I've ever heard of that before! So, he's like a private detective?"

"In a way," Mrs. Hudson said thoughtfully, "He doesn't do domestics though, he likes a good murder. Has helped on quite a few of those."

El nodded, "Well, I'm sure he leads a very…interesting life."

The woman took another sip of tea, "Indeed."

El finished her tea and thanked Mrs. Hudson, promising to come by once her apartment was set up. El returned to her new home, shut the door, and stood in the middle of the floor.

Celeste was curled up by the fireplace, sleeping for the first time sense they had left the U.S.

 _I'll put her bed there…The couch can go by the tall window… My desk can go against this wall…The book shelves can go here…My bed can fit along the far bedroom wall…_

 _This is going to be home._

A wide grin broke out across her face, joy barely contained, and she just couldn't help it.

She did her happy dance.

With a squeal that blossomed into a laugh, she spun and threw her arms in the air, moving all over the living room.

Celeste peeked at her with an annoyed expression, but settled back to sleep.

"This is home." El murmured once she had calmed down some.

The airport said they would deliver the rest of her luggage, which wasn't much. She had gotten rid of almost all of her belongings (except her books! Never her books!) when she had sold her home, really taking the phrase "clean start" to a whole new level. She had made quite a bit of money doing so and with her new job, she knew she would be comfortably set.

She had come to London two weeks earlier than expected so that she could clean and set up her apartment. Not to mention starting a new routine, almost essential to her life and reducing her anxiety.

 _Maybe Mrs. Hudson will go furniture shopping with me…I don't really know anyone yet…_

She sighed, that part was always hard. Socializing. Just the thought could turn her stomach; small talk, complimenting people on things she really didn't care about, talking about her life over and over and over and over to anyone who asked…not to mention when people began asking questions she didn't want to answer.

El sat down in the middle of the floor and placed her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands.

A sudden wave of exhaustion hit her and she laid on her back on the hardwood. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

 _Jet lag..._

She decided to close her eyes and give into the very alluring siren of rest.

 _Just for a minute._

#

"How long has the body been here?" Sherlock asked, pulling the latex gloves over his long fingers. He walked past Lestrade and squated beside the swollen, and bluish form next to him.

Lestrade sighed, "The couriner says about two days. The owner of the property said he was walking around with a realtor, taking pictures and such, getting ready to put the property up for sale. They came in through the front entrance about 11:50am and found him here in the assembly room."

"Was there a sign of a break in? Forced entry?" John asked, crossing his arms, a scowl playing across his features, as he leaned over the body.

Greg shook his head, "No, but granted they said the lock had been broken on the building for some time, so anyone could have been in here."

John knelt down and moved the graying hair from the man's neck, observing the wound, and carefully moving his fingers along the dead man's spine.

He stood up after a few moments and sighed, "Well, it seems he had almost every bone in his Cervical vertebrae smashed," John pointed to the swollen, dried, bloody mess, just below the skull, "He most likely died of asphyxiation, unless his spinal cord was severely damaged or severed. But you won't really know till he's had an autopsy. Molly should be able to tell us more."

Sherlock shifted his stance to get a better look at the mans face.

 _The victim had been his mid to late fifties…_

He noticed the clean, but scratched wedding band on his left hand… _married happily for twenty plus years…_

 _No shoes…interesting…_

Sherlock maneuvered the head, opening the jaw and gently closed it again… _access to good dental care…had a good job_

He stood and walked around the body twice before he knelt and lifted the man's trouser hem to examine the ankle… _slightly overweight and varicose veins due to a sedentary life, but overall rather healthy for his age. An office worker?_

 _Moved due to the lack of blood on the scene. It was at least two days old and had been severely beaten, several broken ribs and a cracked sternum. The head had been bashed in, crushing the occipital bone and breaking his neck._

He frowned… _lack of blood…moved the body?_

"Where's the weapon?" He asked the Detective Inspector.

"Uh, it was the lamp," He pointed to a pile of broken and decomposing wood, "one of those fancy ones, the kind your grandmother has. Crystal with a heavy brass base."

Sherlock moved to examine it closely, but as soon as he saw it, rolled his eyes. _Not right, obvious_.

There was blood on the base of the lamp, but no skin tissue. And from the bloody pulp of a man on the other side of the factory floor, there would Definitely be skin tissue all over it.

He moved back to the body and shoved his hands in his pockets, just observing.

 _The angle wasn't right…he would had to have been bent over, on his hands and knees with his head dropped forward and the murderer holding the lamp by the neck straight in front of them like a sword, swinging down with the base, striking his head on the upswing…like a pendulum. And that was more like a weird, sadistic execution…_

 ** _Except_** _the knees on his pants weren't dirty and neither were his hands. Meaning that they had to have been watching him from behind, he had been looking down, and they had jumped out and struck upwards with a crow bar or tire iron, then beaten the body._

 _Besides, if he was hit with a lamp, no matter how heavy, the base would have struck him in the back, between the shoulder blades, knocking him down but giving him a chance to fight back. His hands were almost untouched, no bruising or cuts, meaning he had not or could not have defended himself._

 _It was mostly likely murder, maybe a mugging, as he had no wallet on him…But if it had been a mugging, why bother moving the body?_

Needless to say, death had been relatively quick, probably a few minutes…

"Well? What do you think?" Greg asked, sighing and rubbing a hand across his tired, lined forehead.

"He wasn't killed with the lamp. He was killed by a crowbar or a tire iron or something heavy, thin and metal. They moved the body and took his shoes so their wouldn't be any physical evidence of where they had been, perhaps where they had killed him and they took his wallet to make him harder to identify him." He pulled the gloves from his hands and tossed them carelessly on the floor, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Greg frowned, "You're sure? Because if you are, we're starting from scratch."

Sherlock let out an irritated sniff, "Of course I'm right, I'm always right."

"No you're not." John grumbled, rolling his eyes.

He shot his former roommate a dark look and turned back to the Detective Inspector, and opened his mouth to speak, but his phone buzzed and he pulled it out. It blinked '1 New Message.'

 _Mycroft…dull_

 **Brother dear, have something that may be of interest to you. – MH**

He frowned.

 **I'm busy. – SH**

 **You are always busy. This is important Sherlock. – MH**

He shoved his phone back into his pocket and sighed, "If I'm not needed?" He turned on his heel and started for the door, "Keep me posted!"

He heard John give an apology and start after him.

"You're sure it wasn't the lamp?"

"Yes, it was to conveniently placed, on display for all to see. Really, John? I thought that maybe after all this time, I would start to rub off on you."

They exited the building and stepped under the yellow caution tape.

"Who do you think did it? Rather gruesome for a mugging…maybe it was a hit?" John pondered, steering them towards his car.

"If it was a hit, then why dump the body on private property, why not dump it in the river? Besides, it was personal. They didn't just kill him, they killed him and beat his body to a _pulp._ They not only wanted him dead, they wanted him to suffer,"he suddenly stopped, "What are you doing? Why are we standing next to your car? You're figitting. You want to leave. Why?" Sherlock frowned at him.

John blinked, surprised at the sudden change of subject, "I need to go home."

"Why? Wait, stupid of me to ask. Charlotte's got colic. Keeping you and Mary up," he waved off his previous question, sighing, "And I was counting on you coming back to the apartment with me."

John grinned, pulling his keys out of his pants pocket, "You make me sound like a cheap hooker."

Sherlock snorted, "Like I would bring a hooker back to the apartment."

The detective's best friend gave him a pointed look, "Janine?"

"Are you ever going to let that go?"

"Not a chance, Sheryl." He smirked wickedly and opened his car door, "Give me a call, keep me updated on the case."

Sherlock frowned, "You won't be joining me at the morgue?"

John shook his head, "I can't, I had an influx of new patients at the surgery. I'm swamped with appointments. See you later, Sherlock." He climbed into his car and closed the door, starting the engine.

Sherlock simply nodded and turned, heading back towards the road to catch a cab. Once he had, and they were on their way back to Bakers Street, Sherlock mulled over his conversation with John.

Needless to say, he was growing frustrated. John had been unable to help him more and more, only coming out to help on cases when Sherlock desired a second set of eyes. Naturally, Sherlock understood. He had a wife and baby now, they needed his attention more than him. But he couldn't help but feel a bit lonely…

Sherlock shook off his thoughts. _I need to focus on the case._

He paid the cabbie when they arrived at the building and he quickly headed up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He entered his flat, hung up his coat by the door and sat in his chair. He needed to think. He felt himself drift further into his mind palace, organizing the details from the scene, playing the repeatedly over and over in his head.

Sherlock wasn't sure how long he had been sitting their, but the sudden feeling of warmth on his lap jogged him from his thoughts. He looked down and there sitting on his knees, staring up at him was a yellow eyed, black and white spotted cat. He blinked to be sure that he wasn't hallucinating.

He frowned, no, he wasn't losing it. The cat, obviously suffering from vitiligo, cocked his head to the side, giving him a once over, swishing his fluffy tail back and forth.

 _No collar, maybe a stray? No, no. To well fed._

"You know, it's rather rude to trespass into people's homes."

The cat swished his tail again, as if to say, "Do you really think that I care?"

Sherlock let out a huffed sigh and practically shoved the cat off his lap when he stood. The creature let out an angered squeak before settling itself in his chair.

He walked to the door and leaned out. "Mrs. Hudson!" He shouted, irritated.

When he didn't hear anything, he shouted again, "Mrs. Hudson! It would be nice if you could appear here _within_ the century!"

He heard a slight patter of feet and Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs.

"No need to shout," she tisked, "What is it Sherlock dear?" She was slightly huffing and he noticed her arms were slightly damp above the forearms and her water speckled apron.

 _Must have been doing her dishes, machine probably broken again if she's doing it by hand._

"There is a cat in my flat. Why?" He crossed his arms and turned to the animal again.

She peaked her head around him to see what he was talking about and blinked in surprise at the little creature sitting, ramrod straight in Sherlock's chair.

"Oh dear. I suppose El didn't lock her door."

"What?"

"This is her cat, Celeste." At the sound of her name, her ears perked up and she jumped up to greet Mrs. Hudson.

"Who is El?" He felt a little confused, trying to remember if he had accidentally deleted something important.

The landlady frowned, "Elodie Reid. I told you I had found a tenant for the basement apartment. That's why I had that awful contractor making all sorts of noise for several weeks, fixing it up."

"Oh."

They stood there for a minute while the cat, Celeste, was weaving her way through his pant legs, covering him hair.

"Well, are you going to take it or not?" He asked.

Mrs. Hudson rolled her eyes, "I'm doing my dishes dear. She's in 221C. Just knock on the door."

"But I'm busy with a case." He let out an exasperated growl, tossing his hands into the air.

"Sherlock, love, you're always busy with a case. Conveniently so, when you don't want to do something." She then promptly turned and left.

He looked back at Celeste, now sitting by his side, looking up at him with expectant eyes, "Well, let's us get go find your negligent owner, who was stupid enough to leave her door unlocked in this neighborhood." He scooped the cat up and trudged down the stairs.

When they had reached the door, Sherlock knocked on the door, loudly. But no one answered, so he pushed the cracked door open, ready to reprimand this Ms. Reid for her incompetence and for interrupting him while he was working.

But he stopped with the odd sight of a woman, about 22, maybe 23, lying on her back in the middle of a completely empty flat.

Her dark straight hair was spread out in a fan around her head and she had both hands flat at her sides.

She was slim, but had a lean figure, most likely a swimmer. She had light tan skin covered in freckles, and high cheekbones (Native American decent).

 _She is from the United States…_

She had a button nose (possibly German ancestry), slightly cleft chin, right handed, cat lover (obviously), long dark lashes, short, un-manicured, slightly bitten finger nails, faint scar on her right cheek obtained during her childhood, does her own eyebrows, glasses wearer from the faint indents on the bridge of the nose, slightly anemic, hands that spend a lot of time typing on a laptop keyboard, and mild scoliosis in her lower spine from the way her right shoulder was raised just a tad more than the other.

Her clothes were a simple red cable jumper and denim jeans with giant fuzzy blue socks, exuding comfort over fashion. Her sweater looked older, but well worn, probably second hand. Her shoes, black leather boots, that were by the door, were also second hand but in good condition. He noticed a necklace peeking out of her sweater, a teal eye with a black center surrounded by a thin ring of gold.

 _Interesting…_

From her bag, a patent leather, structure bag (he had noticed from the door beside her shoes), he assumed she was a professional of some sort. Possibly a lawyer or a professor of some kind.

 _So, my new neighbor is a young woman just starting her life, an American cat lover who unintentionally doesn't give much thought to her personal health. But enjoys being outside and lives frugally, most likely out of habit as she obviously has enough money._

She was still sleeping, breathing deeply. Her eyes fluttered beneath her eyelids and she sighed in her sleep. Her eyes had dark bruises underneath them and her face was slightly pale.

 _Probably jet lag._

Sherlock took a step to set her cat down on the floor, but when he move, a creak from the wooden floors filled the apartment. She began to stir and he froze.

The woman moaned slightly and stretched, still oblivious to him standing a few feet from her. She blinked, sat up and looked around the room. It was then that her eyes locked onto him, her sitting on the floor and him standing there holding Celeste.

It was a tense moment, then she said blankly, "I really hope you're not trying to steal my cat."

#

El looked at the man standing in her apartment. He was tall, about six feet, he had dark, wild curly hair swept to the side and wore a long dark overcoat and a blue scarf. He had a long thin face with cupid bow lips and a narrow nose and electric eyes that seemed to pierce her plain brown ones.

 _Must be my new neighbor._

He had a firm grip on Celeste, who was wiggling a little bit, not liking being suspended in the air.

She noticed a dark stain on the charcoal dress pants and a little dust on his leather loafers

 _You think he would take better care of his clothes._ She thought with slight disdain.

He frowned and scoffed, "Seriously? You have a complete stranger in your flat and that's what you say? What if I was a murder or burglar?"

She shrugged and stood up, stretching and rubbing her back, "Well, I have nothing of value, and I'm fairly certain you aren't a murderer or you would have killed me by now. But again, why do you have my cat?"

He rolled his eyes. "Your cat was trespassing in my flat, distracting me from my work. I was returning it. I was being _nice_." He spat out the last word as if it was rancid.

 _So I was right._

"You don't need to get testy." She snapped, but sighed and gave him a small smile, "But thank you anyways. I'm Elo-" She said as she took Celeste from his arms.

"I know who you are. You're Elodie Reid, an American recently moved here due to a job transfer, most likely a white collar profession. " He said tersely.

El narrowed her eyes, "I see you've talked to Mrs. Hudson."

"You're 22, maybe 23, you weigh approximately eight stone eight pounds, slightly anemic, but you recently have lost about a half a stone, you wear glasses for distance vision, you're about 1.6 metres tall, bite you nails when your nervous or bored which is often, you're right handed, and naturally frugal, most likely you picked up the habit from your parents, who struggled with finances. You are also of Native American, German, and Greek decent."

She felt her inner self make a mental note, _Didn't know about the bit anemic…better get that checked._

Her eyebrows went into her hairline and she blinked twice before she said, "Oh. Well that's nice. Don't ever need anyone to introduce themselves?"

He crossed his arms, "Not usually."

El said slowly nodded, "Well, alright then…glad I was able to tell you a little bit about myself," Sherlock rolled his eyes, "but unfortunately, I don't have the luxury of such acute…observational skills. I know you're my neighbor upstairs, Mr. Holmes, and that you're a consulting detective. But I'll be honest, I didn't gain that knowledge from the stain on your pant leg or dust on your shoes." She said mockingly and ran a hand through her hair.

He cocked his head to the side surprised, "You just did. Tell me, where is the stain on my pant leg from?"

"What?" She let out a light laugh.

"Where is it from? You did observe it. You seem marginally intelligent and you picked up on the details that seemed out of place, _deduce_ me." He goaded.

 _Prick_.

She frowned at him, "You're trying to make fun of me."

He waved her off, "Don't take offense, I make fun of everyone."

"Fine, but if I get it right, you'll have to be nicer, seeing as we're going to be neighbors."

"Fine, whatever. Quit stalling." He was getting impatient again.

She thought for a few minutes, observing the stain and the fabric. Sherlock let out a dramatic sigh, but she ignored him, and after a moment more, her eyes lit up, "Well, it's an oil based stain from how it's spread from the center, as if it's seeping into the surrounding fabric…" She took a step closer and sniffed, "It smells a bit like polyurethane…wood stain?" She asked.

He gave her a single nod, "And the dust on my shoes?"

She squatted down in front of him, looking for a minute, "It's sawdust."

"Correct, so again, I ask, where is it from?"

"Well, when I talked to Mrs. Hudson, she said that you were a consultant detective and that you usually worked on murder cases…So, a murder… in a furniture factory?"

He gave her a single, obligatory nod.

"Cool!" She exclaimed looking excited, "Usually, I can do it with interactions between people, like with relationships and stuff, but that was fun!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes again, "Yes, fun is _exactly_ how I would describe it."

"But you did get something wrong you know, when you _deduced_ me." She told him, throwing the word back in his face, a small coy smile played at her lips.

 _My turn._

Irritation blossomed in his chest, "Pray tell, what did I get incorrect?" He spat out the last word.

"I'm actually 26, young skin runs in the family. Everyone always think I'm much younger than what I am." She let out a sigh and rubbed the back of her neck again, obviously remembering previous incidents.

"Lucky you," He growled, "Is that all I got wrong?"

"Yes, that's all." She smiled and stuck out her hand, "It's very nice to meet you Mr. Holmes. I hope you'll be able to tolerate me."

He narrowed his eyes slightly, "Sherlock, Ms. Reid. And I suppose you aren't a complete idiot." He took her hand and gave it a firm shake.

"Do I sense a compliment?" She teased.

Sherlock scoffed, "Don't flatter yourself, Ms. Reid."

She grinned, "El is fine, Sherlock."

()()()()()()()()()

Sherlock left with a twirl of his coat and shut the door firmly behind him.

 _No more cats._

He stood in the hall for a few minutes, thinking about this…odd encounter.

She was of moderate intelligence, definitely above average. She had mentioned that she was able to observe, but only when people interacted with each other.

 _Needs a bit of practice though._

He hummed in the back of his throat, _maybe she would be able to help me with the case…at least until John has a bit more time…_

He wasn't stumped, per say, but he was definitely overlooking something important.

 _What am I missing!_

()()()()()()()()()

Whoohoo! I finished it! Sherlock is a lot of fun to write and I hope I did it well. Please send me your thoughts! I want to hear it, good and bad (just not too much bad please?). Thanks you guys!


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